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Christmas Pie Lo! now is come our joyfull'st feast! Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy leaves is dressed, And every post with holly. Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning; Their ovens they with bakemeats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie, And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, And ever more be merry. George Wither		Thursday Jan 15, 2026
		Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969

About Theodore Roethke

	Theodore Roethke
	(1908-1963) American poet, lyrical verse characterized by startling imagery, 1954 Pultizer Prize.

Popular Theodore Roethke Quotes

A lively understandable spirit Once entertained you. It will come again. Be still. Wait.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.

And everything comes to One, As we dance on, dance on, dance on.

Time marks us while we are marking time.

May my silences become more accurate.

I came where the river Ran over stones; My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.

What's madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?

Love is not love until love's vunerable.

Long live the weeds that overwhelm My narrow vegetable realm! The bitter rock, the barren soil That force the son of man to toil; All things unholy, marred by curse, The ugly of the universe.

The indignity of it! With everything blooming above me, Lilies, palepink cyclamen, roses, Whole fields lovely and inviolate, Me down in the fetor of weeds, Crawling on all fours, Alive, in a slippery grave.

All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain with its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The afterlight upon iceburdened pines; Odor of basswood upon a mountain slope, A scene beloved of bees; Silence of water above a sunken tree: The pure serene of memory of one man, A ripple widening from a single stone Winding around the waters of the world.

And what a congress of stinks!- Roots ripe as old bait, Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich, Leaf mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks, Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.

In a dark time, the eye begins to see.

God bless the roots! Body and soul are one.

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